


March of the Dark Lady

by Viscount_Vampyre



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types
Genre: Battle, Drama, Fantasy, Gen, Revenge, Swords & Sorcery
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-21 05:35:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,546
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21069725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Viscount_Vampyre/pseuds/Viscount_Vampyre
Summary: Freed from the hold of the Scourge Lady Sylvanas Windrunner begins her journey to power and sets on the road to dominion over the Plaguelands... Yet becoming the banshee Queen of Lordaeron isn't as simple as capturing a castle or two... And will require more than Elven sticks and harsh language.Read and review! And any suggestions, additional tags I should put on, or if you see errors (continuity, plot, or grammar) please let me know!





	1. The Dark Lady

March of the Dark Lady

Prologue: The Legacy of the Damned

With the defeat of the Burning Legion at the battle of Mount Hyjal, and the death of Lord Archimonde, three of his agents assigned to watch over the Scourge and the Plague lands of Lordaeron grow weary…

At the same time the control of the Lich King has waned, freeing many of his former subjects to other’s influence.

The mighty Death Knight, Prince Arthas Menethil, heeding the command of his master has reluctantly left his realm of un-death, and barely avoided assassination by his former General, the banshee Sylvanas Windrunner.

While the Nathrezim Dreadlords; Balnazzar, Detheroc, and Varimathras, remain as abandoned agents of the burning legion. They have capitalised off of the Scourge’s current vulnerability, and have set themselves towards sole dominion over the former kingdom of Lordaeron.

Departing the shores of Azeroth once more, Arthas has charged his seneschal, the lich Kel’thuzad, with mustering the Scourge loyalists and fighting in the civil war now consuming the land.

With the capital city controlled by the Nathrezim and their undead forces, and the Scourge loyalists flocking to Kel’thuzad’s banner, Sylvanas finds herself _free_ to make her own choices once more.

Having nothing but hatred for the man who’d slain her and her people, Kel’thuzad’s death, and the destruction of the Scourge, is certainly a great desire of the Dark Lady’s and a necessary first step in exacting her vengeance upon Arthas and the Lich King.

Yet to bring her into their fold once more the Dreadlord Varimathras, has attempted to entice her to their side… Blind to the effects of her newfound freedom and underestimating her own will, the Dreadlord finds himself now assailed and under siege from Sylvanas and her forces.

Without enough strength of arms the Banshee Queen has begun exercising her own powers, ensnaring the hearts and minds of the living to bolster her numbers. What was previously merely a group of banshees and dark rangers has been heavily supplemented by a band of brigands and pockets of former Alliance militia.

Even with the aid of the renegade humans it may not be enough to break through Varimathras’ defences and put him within her reach…

…

Chapter One: The Dark Lady

Several days since ensnaring the self-styled Bandit Lord, Blackthorn, Sylvanas had begun waging a guerrilla-war against the first of her Dreadlord foes, Varimathras.

Having learned many valuable lessons since her painful failed defence of Quel’thalas the former Ranger-General has been steadily winning ground… And now within the mixed war camp of her living and undead forces the Dark Lady presides over her war council.

…

“Varimathras and the remainder of his forces have retreated to the security of his personal citadel.”

Clearing her throat the dark ranger who had been giving her report continued, and sitting in the shadowed corner of the siege tent a cloaked figure watched on with dark red, piercing, eyes.

“With the aid of Blackthorn’s brigands our rangers have been able to intercept each of the dreadlord’s runners…”

Pointing towards the parchment map of the region the undead high elf indicated the capital city as well as nearby castles known to still be under the three Nathrezim’s control.

“As of yet no reinforcements loyal to the Dreadlords appear to be moving to relieve Varimathras.” Chuckling, the ranger added, “It appears they’re having far too much trouble in battling back Kel’Thuzad.”

At this Sylvanas finally gave a reaction, allowing herself a small smile of satisfaction and audibly letting out a sigh before speaking, “After all my time resenting that fool, here it is that he has inadvertently aided us…”

Her voice made all those in attendance straighten and chill, an unease washing over them.

The two humans in the presence of Sylvanas had steeled themselves while the dark ranger Velonara bowed her head in agreement before looking back up and raising an eyebrow at Blackthorn, indicating he was to speak next.

Grunting and clearing his throat the bandit lord nodded, “Indeed. As you had instructed my lady my men have set to the construction of siege equipment and entrenchments around the damned citadel.”

Pursing his lips and rolling his shoulders he hesitated before continuing, his voice now low, “But my lady… my men and I have only been able to survive this long by _avoiding_ protracted battles and head-on engagements…”

Sylvanas moved her gaze from the table and eyed the human wordlessly as the ranger Velonara pursed her lips. She knew that even with the aid of the small bandit army their paltry force wasn’t enough to attack the Dreadlord outright.

Blackthorn let out a heavy breath, “We can run circles around this Varimath-tas or whatever his name is as long as you would like. But an actual siege?”

The plate-armoured man ran his fingers through his blonde hair and then began rubbing his stubble and moustache nervously as he considered the map in front of him.

“Even with our combined forces I don’t see how we could adequately take this prize. Thankfully due to my men’s deceptions the fool must think we are more numerous than we are, but… I fear how long this ruse will last.”

Without making any expression the Dark Lady waved her right hand, and the air gained a palpable scent of magic, “Fear not Blackthorn…”

Rising from her seat Sylvanas walked towards the table as she too began regarding the map.

The brigand nodded as her charm dispelled his concerns and brought him back unquestioningly to her will. He bowed his head, “As you say my lady.”

Scrutinising the parchment the former Ranger-General leant forwards and ran her bare finger along some roads to the north-west. Several symbols had been written and smeared in cheap ink upon them.

Looking up from the black marks she asked, “What do these markings indicate?”

The man looked at his side to his own lieutenant before stepping closer and eyeing the scribbles, immediately he recognised their message and explained, “Ah, yes… we’ve lost a few men along those routes, foraging for supplies among the abandoned farms.”

Stepping back the man curled his fingers around the rim of his breastplate, flipping up his gorget, he hung his arms down the front of his cuirass. It was a motion which Sylvanas had noticed to be his habit when he rested.

He chuckled and looked to his side with his characteristic smirk, “Ogres live deep in those woods and ridges. Stubborn hold-overs from the Old Horde… or so I’m told.”

Clearing his throat the bandit met his master’s gaze and nodded, “They’re big, ugly, loud creatures and I’ve seen them rip men apart before, but if we’re to control the valley I’m sure that we’ll come into conflict with them at one point or another.”

Scoffing Sylvanas shook her head in disagreement, “The curs would hardly be worth the effort.”

At this Velonara eagerly interjected “Perhaps mistress. But there is a whole clan of them out there. If we could lure them to our side, they would be of great use against Varimathras’ forces.”

Raising a brow and smirking Sylvanas paused before eventually nodding, her voice rising in a pleasant tone, “How very clever of you, sister. Possessing these lowly creatures could turn the tide in our favour!”

Blackthorn’s lieutenant Nilas, a renegade wizard, and survivor of the Kirin Tor, spoke up, doing his best to remain calm as Sylvanas listened on.

His salt and pepper beard moved up and down comically as he spoke, and he had a gravelly voice which could only have belonged to one of the crotchety former residents of Dalaran.

“The clan is that of the Stonemauls, my lady.” He paused nervously, “Their leader is a beast named Mug’thol.”

Sylvanas scrutinised the mage, so far his knowledge had been invaluable to their operations and she valued his council more than Blackthorn’s hallow bravado.

“This Mug’thol is far too dimwitted to forge a partnership as we have. So you must forgive me my lady, but…” Nilas looked down briefly, “How does Velonara suggest we _lure_ him to our side?”

The man chuckled nervously, “The beasts pick their teeth with bones and possess about as much diplomatic intelligence as a murlock!”

At this Blackthorn laughed, but Velonara furrowed her brow at having been so directly challenged; disregarding the humans she turned to Sylvanas and explained, “We’ll simply start with their leader. Charm him, ensnare him…” her voice rose as she confidently finished, “Once we have him, subverting his warriors will be child’s play.”

Velonara smirked, “It would cut down our siege by weeks. With a company of Ogres bashing down Varimathras’ gates?” she chuckled hollowly, “Speed will be on our side!”

Sylvanas nodded while raising a finger to her chin and lips quietly considering what now to do.

Velonara, Blackthorn, and the renegade wizard Nilas were now quiet, waiting tensely as their mistress thought.

Eventually the banshee nodded, her mind decided. “Blackthorn, rally a few of your best woodsmen and trackers, Velonara you’ll take command here and maintain the siege.”

The two lieutenants nodded to their mistress as she eyed the map once again, “I intend to take a small force and locate this Mug’thol.”

At this the three bowed their heads.

Adjusting her hood and walking towards the tent’s flap, Sylvanas thought aloud; “I’ll ensnare the beast or destroy him.”

…

Hours later, the small party had trekked north from their new basecamp, hoping to reach their destination before night fell and the forests proved impossible to navigate.

Moving speedily Blackthorn’s rogues led the Banshee Queen deeper into the woods of the Tirisfal Glades.

With her bow in her hand and an arrow nocked the dark ranger narrowed her eyes and searched from side to side as her human escort slowed. Where they were in the wood had thinned to the point that they could see a small farmer’s meadow lying fallow.

“Halt here.” She ordered sternly.

The men, entranced by Sylvanas as much as their leader was, nodded and each lowered to a crouch.

Finally she spoke, “Wisps of smoke, just there above the treeline.”

The men searched and scrutinised until they too saw the faint grey rising above the greenery.

“I want to see the beasts’ encampment before nightfall,” stowing the arrow to her quiver Sylvanas waved the men along as she exited their concealed position and began setting across the meadow.

Nearer the edge of the other side of the clearing stood a ruined peasant’s farmhouse.

And no sooner did the party enter the clearing did they hear the yells and revelry of their quarry.

Growling and lowering to a knee Sylvanas stopped her momentum as she spat, “Halt!”

The men accompanying her each smashed into the back of one another as they complied, each nervously searching for why they’d suddenly stopped.

“What is it my lady?” one asked, “Are they watching us?” said another.

No sooner had they answered then two ogres came into view from around the back of the small building.

“There nothing left to steal-take!” the larger of the two yelled in annoyance.

His companion grunted, “We can’t go back to Mug’thol empty handed!”

Groaning the larger ogre’s two heads nodded, “Grah! But we been here before! Them rotting ones killed the farming humies.”

The smaller ogre turned to face his fellow, “Not Mug’thol nor me care! Rotting ones easy to kill smash. They brittle bones and gone-bad meat.”

The two ogres continued speaking to one another as they searched the farmhouse’s nearby barn.

Approaching slowly through the tall grass Sylvanas whispered to her men, “Nock arrows and aim for their heads. These beasts have a thick hide and I would not wish them call upon their brethren.”

The four men with her nodded as they each drew a black shafted arrow from their quivers.

Drawing her own bow back the former Ranger-General set her elven eyes to task and aimed at the smaller ogre’s head.

‘The smaller the target; the greater the challenge’ She thought boastfully. Cocking her eyebrow she felt a rise of brashness, ‘Shall I see if I can pierce his eye from here?’

Hiding her amusement Sylvanas controlled her breathing and quietly counted aloud to her companions, “One… Two… Three.”

At the third count the five archers let their arrows fly towards the rummaging ogres. As they ripped through the air the missiles found their mark with five muted _thwacks_. Both creatures groaned lowly as they fell, slain, and without incident.

Smirking Sylvanas nodded to the humans in approval. “None of you missed?”

The men began smiling dumbly, like pets they sensed the praise in their master’s words.

“I’m glad your company has proven to be far more skillful than Varimathras has made you out to be.”

The men each chuckled lowly, smacking one another at the endorsement and appreciating the ‘kind words’ far more than un-charmed men would have.

Pointing past the now dead ogres the banshee reminded the dimwitted humans of their mission, “Come now, we’re close men. Uncover their tracks.” Looking up towards the setting sun Sylvanas’ mood shifted, they were running out of time.

Stowing her bow over her left shoulder she began forwards while ordering, “Follow the beast’s tracks, and be swift about it! The time is nearly upon us…”

…

A short while later and Sylvanas had her eyes on a mighty host of over thirty ogres. Whole animal carcasses hung on spits over a fire and the largest, meanest of all the ogres laughed while speaking to the assemblage.

In black armour, with a large horn protruding from his helmet, Mug’thol held his war-club above his head as he spoke to and encouraged his clan.

Handing her bow to one of the men crouched at her side Sylvanas issued her orders, “Hold your positions here and make ready a volley should I fail in ensnaring his mind…”

Rising to a stand, the dark lady took a breath and prepared to exit from the cover of the foliage. The four men looked to one another uneasily.

Eventually one of them spoke his concern aloud, “is that really wise my lady?”

Sylvanas’ face was hidden from the men at the angle she stood by her cloak and so she allowed herself a private smile.

“Your care is admirable, but unwarranted.”

Striding down the slope Sylvanas quietly entered into the Ogre’s camp, gliding along with a strange grace as her target continued to speak.

Yet as she approached the crowd of ogres began pointing and yelling at the sight of the small undead she-elf.

“I! Mighty Mug’thol have brought whole clan here to prepare for-“ Eventually the noise of the crowd had grown so rowdy that Mug’thol had to turn.

Clapping sarcastically Sylvanas offered a faux smile as she spoke, “My, my, such a crowd of fine warriors. And here I was thinking the Stonemauls were scattered to the winds with the rest of the horde.”

Mug’thol furrowed his uni-brow and grunted while pointing at the lithe undead elf.

With a battle cry he readied his club and immediately leapt forwards, “Me warlord Mug’thol! Me crush weak dead!”

As soon as his words passed his lips the crowd erupted in approval and Sylvanas feinted to her side to avoid the bludgeoning maul.

Dodging a few more attempts of the ogre-lord Sylvanas bared her teeth while locking eyes with the creature.

Her voice began as both outside and within the beast’s head, invading his senses and his will supplanting it with that of her own.

“Your men have assembled for battle…” she announced.

Mug’thol offered some token resistance to her charm, but his ability to withstand her magic was futile and quickly the invisible battle was lost…

“How flattering that your clan _would pledge fealty to me_”

Mug’thol raised his club but Sylvanas made no efforts to avoid his attack this time.

Watching this exchange from their hidden position the four human brigands tensed, “What is she doing?”

“She’s going to get killed!”

“We must save her!”

“Shut up! She knows what she’s doing!”

Sylvanas’ eyes glinted and she cocked her head as she smiled. “You’re all riled up for a fight too, aren’t you?”

The ogre lord’s arms faltered and he let go of his weapon.

The club slid from his fingers and landed loudly onto the earth.

The Banshee Queen’s words had ensnared his thoughts and each of her sentences was echoing into the creature’s mind. Now blinking and leaning forwards the tall ogre shook his head and grunted before meeting Sylvanas’ gaze.

Raising an eyebrow and smirking she asked, “Feel any better now, Mug’thol?”

Her spell had fallen across the whole of the clan and without missing a beat it passed as if it were a given that the ogre clan had actually assembled to fight on her behalf all along.

Mug’thol smiled a dumbstruck grin as he beheld his new mistress. Drawing a breath he loudly answered her question, “Me serve pretty ghost now! All Stonemaul clan serve…”

The mass of the assembled ogres bellowed out their agreements and war chants; Sylvanas’ magic having ensnared enough of them to her will so as to make certain their new allegiance.

Smiling and looking at her right hand the dark ranger felt the rippling of the necromantic magic through her flesh. Surprised at her own relatively simple exertion she remarked, ‘What bounds does my power truly have?’

Chuckling in disbelief she curled her fingers into a fist and looked up into the now adoring gaze of the ogre, “Glad to hear it Mug…”

Around her the ogres had begun to crowd closer, all desiring a better look of their enchantress.

Seeing the mass of muscles and raw force which was ogling and eyeing her fanatically, the Banshee Queen raised her fist into the air and cried her first order to the beasts, “Let’s move out!”

As one the crowd of ogres repeated the order and prepared for battle.

…

As dawn came across the feted and ruined lands of Lordaeron a great thundering began to shake the earth under Sylvanas’ mixed war-camp.

Blackthorn stepped from his tent, half dressed in his armour, and yelled to the first man he saw; “Earthquake?! This far inland?”

Men began looking to one another confused, and even the steely-eyed and stoic undead rangers at Sylvanas’ command furrowed their brows, disconcerted, at the inexplicable rumbling of the earth.

A bandit sentry atop one of the many watch towers punctuating the palisades of the camp yelled down as loud as he could, “The Lady has returned! The Lady has returned!”

Velonara pointed to the mail armoured spearmen posted at the redoubt’s wooden entrance and cried, “Open the gates!”

The waking men began to pour out of their tents and towards the road bisecting the camp, undead rangers and the living brigands stood watching expectantly as the rumbling grew nearer.

Once visible from the open gate brutish horns bellowed and chants began in the crude war calls of the ogre-kin.

“_To war! Mug’thol lead to war!”_

There were drums now too, their deep notes rebounding off the countryside as the column of disorderly giants came nearer. The united chorus of grunting voices sang lyrically, once again,

“_To war, to war, Mug’thol lead to war! We follow, we follow, Dark Lady, Dark Lady!”_

A sergeant of sorts cried in between choruses “_Pretty ghost find enemies to kill!”_

To which the men replied, “_We follow Dark Lady!_”

At the fore of the column of marching ogres the camp finally beheld their leader:

Sitting upon Mug’thol’s right shoulder, her legs crossed, bow in hand, and cruel smile across her features was the Banshee Queen herself.

Velonara’s mouth didn’t know how to sit as she looked up the massive, black-plate wearing, ogre and her mistress adorning his shoulders.

Beside the ranger Blackthorn began a howl of laughter and watched the advancing procession of ogres with disbelief.

Whispering to her mount Mug’thol came to a stop in the middle of the camp.

Rising from her seat to a stand Sylvanas steadied herself and addressed her rag-tag cohort, “My Ranger sisters, my men! Sharpen your blades! Make ready your arrows, and light the torches!”

The whole camp began a cheer, and the former Ranger-General looked from her perch at the citadel of her foe.

“Today we shall bring that demon wretch to heel!”

Blackthorn drew his sword and held it aloft as he chanted “Sylvanas!” Many followed suit, while some began banging their blades together, stomping their feet, or ringing their weapons upon their shields.

Smirking wildly the undead she-elf felt the rising in her chest of emotions she hadn’t felt since she was alive…

For the first time since her un-death she felt…

_Hope_

…


	2. Dread lord's fall, part I

March of the Dark Lady

Chapter Two – Dread lord’s fall, part I

At once, with all the fury and speed which her devotees could muster, Sylvanas’ forces drove across the rotten, muddy, blighted ground emanating from Varimathras’ basecamp.

To the wretched cries of horns and drums, brigands and thieves, mercenaries and deserters, entered melee with rotten skeletons, putrid ghouls, abominations, and crypt fiends…

Blackthorn led his mounted riders into battle, wheeling around the disorganised enemy front line to strike at the undead support and ranged units. The majority of Varimathras’ auxiliary was made up of wiry crypt fiends.

Dodging whipping bolas the lord held his lance true and ran one of the horrifying arachnids through.

The renegade wizards under Sylvanas’ banner conjured elementals of water and incanted defensive wards against the rain of spells from the Dreadlord’s necromancers, and even the foul beast himself.

And by now many ogres of Mug’thol’s clan had set into battle against their size equivalent, those near-bursting grotesqueries; the abominations.

Club met hook, rotten flesh smashed against living, and inch by inch the Banshee Queen came to the entrance of Varimathras’ foul and blackened keep.

Atop Mug’thol’s shoulder she sent arrow after arrow towards her foes, issuing orders and commands as loud as her wailing voice could muster.

Unable to see her quarry from her mounted vantage Sylvanas let her scream soar, “Come out and face me Dreadlord!”

Her men cried in agreement as they fought and she boastfully asked the air, “_Are you afraid?_”

As the clamor and ring of the horrid battle climbed higher and higher the she-elf growled in triumph as she saw the demon take the field, his monstrous doom-guard flanked him as a few overzealous ogres broke through the line and charged him.

Making battle with the ogres Varimathras’ cold gaze and voice met Sylvanas from across the field, asking, “Is this all that you have got Sylvanas? I expected more from you!”

Smirking with spite the she-elf replied, “You underestimated me, Dreadlord!”

Indicating the turning of the battle in her favour and the steady success of her mercenaries she pointed her ungloved right hand at Varimathras.

“Now you’re going to pay!”

Blackthorn rallied his still living horsemen and readied another charge, easily smashing his plate-wearing, heavy cavalry through the staggered and increasingly disorganised undead right flank.

Coldly responding, and disregarding his mounting losses, Varimathras’ voice boomed across the valley, “You should have joined us, Sylvanas! Your refusal shall cost you dearly!”

Raising his right hand and closing it many of the dead brigands slowly rose to haggard stances before setting against their still-living brothers.

Scowling Sylvanas took aim and shot three black-hewn arrows after one another, each finding their mark in the skulls of these newly risen dead.

One of Varimathras’ doom-guard slew an ogre and bellowed loudly before Sylvanas took aim and let fly another arrow. Finding purchase through the demon’s open mouth the shaft of the missile now protruded through the back of the veteran beast’s skull.

“Your scheming brothers and foul magic cannot help you now, Varimathras!”

Growling and letting loose a blast of foul flames the demon cut a swath through his forces to engulf some of her armoured troops.

“Foolish banshee, you think you can match the might of the Nathrezim?!”

Holding her right hand above her head she cut it through the air, punctuating her words as she cried, “Rangers! Let fly!”

A coordinated volley of arrows began to soar towards Varimathras, and the Dreadlord immediately took cover under his wings, hissing loudly. His still living doom-guard growled and roared as it batted some of the projectiles away. Yet the beast quickly became peppered and covered with arrows.

Countless more the feathered missiles fell upon their targets, felling ghouls, risen dead, and all manner of creature at the demon’s command.

With her foe wearied and under the constant barrage of arrows the she-elf whispered to her mount and the ogre moved, extending his right arm for her to use as stairs.

Clambering down Mug’thol’s limb Sylvanas landed onto the wet muddy ground and bellowed to her men, her bow held high, “Charge the gates!”

‘Now we’ve got him…’

Breaking the arrows which had penetrated the thick leathery skin of his wings Varimathras growled and let out a howl as his citadel emptied of his reserve forces.

Looking to his side he saw his still living doom-guard, now turned into a pincushion from all the elven and human missiles protruding from his hide and armour. The fellow demon moaned in pain before Varimathras hissed and brought his fist across the creature’s pauldron, “Lead the flank you fool!” he cried.

Breaking hafts of arrows from his breastplate the demon nodded wearily before readying his sword and turning to the melee.

Closing the distance and firing arrow after arrow Sylvanas screamed; “You’ll pay for all the suffering you’ve caused Varimathras! I swear it!”

Dodging her missiles and bearing his claws the cloven demon charged with single minded purpose, “Come now little archer! I shall reunite you with your slaughtered countrymen!”

Jumping to her side, the lithe ranger avoided the rending strike of the demon’s touch, giving him a few grievously placed arrows in kind.

Jumping to his lady’s defence Mug’thol battered a crypt fiend from his way before surprising the demon from the side.

“You not hit pretty ghost!” he bellowed.

Crashing his crude maul against Varimathras’ shoulder, the wretched breaking and ruining of the Dreadlord’s armour caused the demon to dip to a knee before responding.

Slashing his claws across Mug’thol’s breastplate, the black talons cut four deep marks across the length of the ogre’s belly.

Crying in pain and surprise the mighty chieftain fell, his closest warriors immediately leaping to his aid with cries in ogrish.

Grumbling and returning his attention to Sylvanas the demon pointed and hissed loudly before attempting to rush her again.

Blackthorn, seeing this, held his lance ready and pulled upon his horse’s reins, yelling to his men “Rally to the Lady!” before setting spur to flank and thundering across the field.

Turning at the sound of charging horse-hooves Varimathras’ eyes widened as he beheld three mounted knights, lances poised, barrelling towards him.

With one strike he slew the rider and steed to his left, sending the bisected man flying from the saddle and the headless horse crashing into the melee around them.

The other strike wounded Blackthorn’s steed, but the lance of the bandit lord met its mark and impaled through the left side of Varimathras’ abdomen.

Taking hold of the weapon with his left hand Varimathras kept Blackthorn from moving the shaft, while the demon defended himself from the third rider with his right hand.

Piercing and searing pain began to erupt all over his body as arrows from Sylvanas, her rangers, and even blades of the encroaching humans slashed at him. Upon his back, his legs, and his arms his ichor-black blood began to flow.

Falling to his knees and straining to defend himself the Dreadlord lashed out, growling and screaming violently, while Sylvanas slowly approached, an arrow nocked and aimed for his face.

His forces now obliterated and shattered the Dark Lady’s army began cheering as they watched on.

Drawing back her arrow the ranger asked coldly, “Any final words, demon?”

Breaking the lance tip off in his left hand and wearily feeling the pain of his countless wounds the Dreadlord’s voice came out panicked and pleading, a stark contrast to his earlier venom.

His eyes searched her face wildly as he spoke, “Sylvanas… spare my life, I beg of you! I can be of service! I swear it!”

Smirking, yet not loosening her drawn bowstring, the she-elf responded, “Just like a demon. You’d sell your brethren out just to save your own skin…”

Unblinkingly she stared her target down, and finished, “I’m listening.”

Attempting to remain standing as blood dripped down from his cracked lips, the Nathrezim quickly spoke, “I know what my brother’s plans are…”

“I know where their forces are based.”

Coughing and retching as he fell to his knees the demon spat his dark blood onto the muddy ground. His voice was maintaining only a reserve amount of restraint as he looked back up to Sylvanas’ face.

“Let me serve you and I shall help you defeat them… this realm shall be yours, I swear that you shall rule it.”

At this the army’s cheers became deafening.

Lowering her weapon and stowing her arrow the she-elf nodded, reluctantly. Raising her right hand the crowd silenced.

Searching the demon’s pained face for any trace of deception the banshee finally made up her mind, for the moment, to trust the pitiful creature in front of her.

“All right Varimathras…”

“I shall let you prove your loyalty to me. But be warned…” stepping closer to the demon she fearlessly stared him down, “I’m keeping you on a short leash.”

…

After the battle Sylvanas consolidated much of her forces and broke camp, though injured Mug’thol and his ogres assisted in hauling down the entrenchments and defenses of the redoubt while the Banshee spurred her troops to move.

Speed was going to be of the essence, and they had to seize upon their capture of the Dreadlord…

Everything unnecessary was left behind and the dark rangers, ghouls, bandits, and ogres were forced into a march as they proceeded east across the King’s Road.

Now on horseback Sylvanas led the fore of her mixed army, and Varimathras limped beside her.

Clutching at his wounded side the Dreadlord spoke, his voice hesitant and carefully controlled, fearful of his new master, “What is it you’re actually planning Sylvanas?”

For several moments she rode in silence, until finally she spoke “My homeland’s a ruin… Arthas saw to that.”

Varimathras groaned and looked away as she continued,

“We are free, for the first time in years… I no longer hear the Lich King’s voice in my head. My heart, my will, is _only_ my own.”

Sitting on horseback beside their commander several dark rangers looked at the demon resentfully, before nodding adoringly at Sylvanas and hanging on her words.

“My sisters and I can never return to Quel’Thalas.” Her lips curled in rage as she twitched and held her reins tighter, “What would we have to return to?!”

Varimathras furrowed his brow and made sure she didn’t see it.

‘Is she not aware? Arthas’ and the Scourge never took root in the magical realm. After Kel’thuzad was raised they departed as soon as they were able… the witless cowards. Many of her people do still live…’

Raising a brow Varimathras looked back to the former ranger-general as she calmed and her demeanour changed.

“No… We shall instead carve out a _new_ home for ourselves.” Stifling an innocent snigger she continued as her voice rose, “and what better founding, than upon the ruins of my greatest enemy’s home?”

She laughed, “I remember listening to that bastard Arthas… He’d boasted that Lordaeron was to fall, and from its ashes would arise a new order…”

Looking over to her new ‘pet’ Sylvanas actually let out a hollow laugh, “Little did he know; this order was to be one of _my _designs_._”

Varimathras groaned in pain and the she-elf looked over before smirking and chiding demon, “Not fatally wounded are you?”

Grumbling the Dreadlord bit his tongue, “For your sake I am not…”

Furrowing her brow and pursing her lips Sylvanas’ eyes flashed with anger, “Be careful demon, when I lived my patience was short. In death I can assure you that it is now radically less so.”

Bowing his head slightly the Dreadlord averted his eyes as he offered an olive branch, “My apologies… my lady.”

Shifting to engage with her overall speech the demon spoke in interest, “Yet, I must avow this is a grand scheme…”

Drawing on her reins again the she-elf straightened in her saddle, “Indeed, and one that shall require a great deal of blood and bones to realise.”

Smirking she asked aloud, “I wonder; do demons a strong kingdom make?”

Varimathras nervously furrowed his brow as he considered the poetic phrasing of his mistress’ words.

Quickly the she-elf’s smile faded, “You will serve me unconditionally Dreadlord. Yet this devotion is not without its boons, I shall reward any who I deem worthy of it.”

The demon furrowed his brow and remained silent as he listened on.

“I do not care for anything which you may do in your own demesne, but as concerns my designs you will withhold nothing from me. Do you understand?”

Varimathras nodded and straightened before agreeing, “I do, milady.”

Flattered by the respect in his words Sylvanas loosened her grip on the leather horse reins.

“Good.”

Swallowing and swimming in his thoughts the demon began groaning and feeling the pain of his injuries less, as his foul magic worked to mend his wounds.

“I avow that I do respect pragmatism and self-interest.” The she-elf chuckled, “Perhaps you and I are more alike than you know…”

Varimathras furrowed his brow.

“An agent of the Burning Legion…” she shook her head, “At your little coup meeting, I never asked. How do you creatures feel knowing that your lord Archimonde is dead? Knowing that the Legion, for the most part, has been undone… scattered to the void?”

Looking over and raising a brow Sylvanas scrutinised the demon’s features for any indication of his thoughts.

“The Legion has had set backs before milady… I do not doubt they shall return.”

Making a coy noise, Sylvanas verbally poked her ‘pet’, condescendingly “Oh?”

“Was it not the legions’ first setback which prompted Archimonde to take a more _direct_ approach?” She laughed, “If Arthas’ report is genuine and the demon lord was felled by his ancient foes in the west then…”

She trailed off purposefully while watching Varimathras’ features.

“I think what is most impressive is that there’d been no word to you or your brothers… You three didn’t even seem to notice his demise.”

The she-elf’s voice rose coyly once again as she got another verbal jab in at her prisoner, “If anything does remains of your former commanders, then they have abandoned you.”

She scoffed and shook her head, “Not like you hadn’t already been given a fool’s errand, minding rotting corpses, and _Arthas_.”

Sniggering she drew a long breath before growling, “oh _Arthas!_ I can’t curse his name enough, yet? That upstart Prince eluded your control and sailed to Kalimdor, without your knowledge?”

Chuckling falsely she continued, “Why… he and his master were operating under your noses the whole while. Plotting, biding their time, waiting for when to strike.” Raising an eyebrow, “I daresay Archimonde’s undoing was in some part contributed to by Arthas’ presence in Kalimdor.”

At this Varimathras finally gave a reaction. He drew a sharper breath and his eyes betrayed him.

Sylvanas smiled widely before changing her expression, “Though of course I have no proof, it’s merely a thought.”

She smirked, “It’s only, _what I would have done…_”

Varimathras’ eyes widened and he faltered in his step, her words had finally rung home.

“Tell me… What did your brothers promise you? An equal partnership?” She sighed, “A triumvirate? How quaint…”

Finally finding his tongue the demon responded, “They… they hadn’t, it was… never discussed.”

Sylvanas hid her utter delight, but immediately capitalised off of the moment, her voice changing seriously as she spoke, “I _refuse _to believe that it was never even mentioned!”

Varimathras began wracking his memories. “They… t-they just fell into a presumption.”

Pursing her lips Sylvanas lowered her voice, playing along and eliciting more from the Dreadlord, “What manner of presumption?”

“That… Balnazzar would lead us.”

Now Varimathras began mumbling and thinking to himself, the seeds of doubt now sprouting.

Looking ahead Sylvanas let out a quiet breath of satisfaction, musing to herself at the revelation; not only could demons be set against one another… _but _they too could be manipulated for her own ends.

With a smile she looked down at the Dreadlord, asking, “Now, who’s next to feel my wrath?”

Nodding, his own mind made up, Varimathras looked at Sylvanas with a muted admiration, “Detheroc.”

Nodding he pointed down the road with a long gnarled talon.

“Detheroc is _pacifying_ the countryside in the immediate vicinity of the capital.”

Sylvanas privately smirked, ‘looks like he’s finally come aboard.’

Lowering his hand the demon stepped closer to the she-elf’s steed, his voice giving way to passionate tones as he divulged some of his knowledge, “He was charged with bolstering our immediate forces, much of the scourge’s initial armies have decayed and withered into husks, just a few sword blows can fell them.”

Grumbling he shook his head, “That bastard the Lich King must have been allowing his necromantic power wane over his forces in a triaged manner… The bonds which keep lowly ghouls and foot soldiers were allowed to rot, while the minds of the more lethal elements were allowed to slip from control.”

Coughing and continuing the Dreadlord thought aloud, “Whether by design or negligence we were unable to determine… But many creatures have fallen under the sway of renegade necromancers of varying power.”

Nodding Varimathras’ voice rose, “Detheroc took it upon himself to root out where in the kingdom these necromancers, nerubians, abominations, and all other manner of former scourge forces had fled to…”

“From his reports he’s indicated that many required immediate culling, their weakened minds too miniscule to be brought back into the fold-“

Sylvanas interrupted sarcastically, “Like me, and my sisters?”

Varimathras stopped and looked to the elf for a moment, “Your mind, and that of your banshees and rangers, is a curious case indeed. I know not why the Lich King and Arthas allowed your personalities to persist in such…” he paused and Sylvanas raised an eyebrow, “a preserved state.”

“Yet whatever his designs, your forces comprised the bulk of the banshees raised to the Scourge since its inception.”

Chuckling hollowly the she-elf looked up as she spoke, “So! You and your men actually needed my sisters!”

The demon bit his tongue, agreeing in a roundabout way, “It would have hampered our plans to consolidate our defence against Kel’thuzad without them, yes.”

They proceeded in silence for quite a while until, with a small measure of satisfaction, Sylvanas asked, “You didn’t expect this did you Varimathras?”

Staring straight ahead, the Dreadlord kept his reaction private and minuscule, and though his words were what Sylvanas wanted to hear, he smiled as he spoke, “No… it wasn’t what we desired in the least.”

…


End file.
